This poem is especially dedicated toward those whoever reading this and has been feeling almost fully-melancholic in his/her life. I know you've suffered. I know, sometimes your hatred to the World and all around you is unlimited. But just let me tell you, I've already awaken from the depth of Hell knowing how I'd felt this, and it just caused me more troubled and disgusted. Don't let the sorrow distress you more, days and so after.

And, hopefully, you'll change. Not into the another person, 'cause there's just no more time to become another-self, but to reconsider things and reconstruct yourself. Being yourself is something more gracefully made of stream of wise. Not then I don't mention, that: